Little Cherine Book 01 - BPost002

I saw it as her own insecurity, but was helpless at removing her fears, or what I perceived as her fears. Unfortunately, her fears were infecting me with vague fears I could not understand.

Previous Post 001

15

Then one day, close to our first anniversary, she did not want to go to my home. She wanted to talk, parked in a side street. She told me about this guy at college, who she often talks with, that she told him about us and how she treats me, now cold, now hot, until I did not know where I stand, explaining how guilty she feels about it. He did not reassure her. He told her how worthless she is. He demeaned and degraded her own opinion of herself and when she reached the same opinion of herself, which it was obvious he insinuated into her psyche, he then made his move. He told her she deserved to be thrown in the rubbish, but he maybe could love her if he made her come right. I do not know all the details, though I thought I understood the psychology he used on her. The result was she now loves him and our relationship is ended.

Could I have been wiser, handled the situation in some way that would have saved her from this man? Could I have saved our love? If she had loved me, maybe, I decided. But I now understood she had never loved me as a man. She had just chosen to be with me because she needed my love and friendship. Just the child in her needed me, not the woman. I was totally lost, hurt and bitter. That she had been manipulated into loving him made it even worse for me. I think I would have found it easier to accept had she fallen in love with someone charming who made her feel good about herself.

How then could I still be dreaming and hoping she would return?

Chapter Four

After the craziness of my pain became a sort of routine, I decided to find a new flat to live in, a place without memories to haunt me. I found a nice flat on the ground floor, at the back of the building, with a tiny garden of my own. It was within easy walking distance of shops and Kolonaki Square, where I originally thought I might be going to hide my pain among the crowds.

I ended up staying away from the square since I discovered crowds made me feel my pain more acutely. What mostly made me take the apartment were two advantages - I did not have to enter through the main entrance, just walk around to the back of the building where my apartment was the only one, with a small private garden, as I’ve mentioned, just a small lawn with a couple of spiky fronds but still, very rare in Athens. I even had a small gate to my garden.

I spent the first months without seeing anyone; I was at work when needed or locked in my flat fighting my depression days and nights, only going out briefly now and then to buy the few necessities I could not do without, such as milk and coffee. Sometimes, if I needed to punish myself with a massive overdose of loneliness, I would go to the square for a coffee or a gin and tonic, sitting by myself as I watched the young couples talking vivaciously and laughing and teasing each other. I thought I was lucky not to be faced with the sight of Dommi with her new love sitting at the square, but I think it is more likely those months they mostly spent in bed. The thought and images drove me crazy.

Having spent years at a boarding school and then, as a young man with pretensions of being an artist, I shared apartments with people who were very casual of their and my privacy. Staying at home, spending days on end within the same walls, alone, it is different, it changes the personality.

I grew accustomed to the total privacy I had in my apartment, only the caretaker ever came to the back to sweep, water and work on my garden. Even though the Greeks are naturally gregarious and uninhibited about their curiosity, because of my being a foreigner he respected my privacy, talking to me only if I came out to greet him. Therefore it was quite a shock when I glimpsed out of the corner of my eye movement at a time the caretaker never is present. Angry that someone was walking around in my garden, invading my privacy, I went to the window.

16

My anger dissipated immediately when I saw it was a little girl of about eight years old. She heard me open my window and turning, looked at me. Her dark eyes seemed enormous as she stared at me. She was obviously terrified and fascinated, as if I were some kind of cobra. Despite her fear, she stared directly into my eyes - a very unusual courage for a child I thought. For a moment there was silence between us.

Since I was a late teenager, I have treasured the qualities of children; the sound of their laughter, their squeals and shouts as they play, even their naughtiness. I love talking to them, one to one, not when they are in a group, as they come up with the most amazing things. They are so natural, so full of life. So innocent. I smiled and greeted her in Greek. She just stared. Finally she greeted me in broken Greek. I could see she was ready to run.

“Do you speak English?”

“Yes” I could see the mask of terror relaxing and I somehow knew she would suddenly run away.

“Do you like my garden - what there is of it?” She shrugged. “You’re welcome to come whenever you want. Don’t worry, I won’t bite you.” I added with a grin.

A sudden grin, her face looking mischievous, she pertly answered, “I was told you would.”

“Oh, I only do that to grown-ups. Especially not to pretty little girls. What is your name?”

“Cherine. Everyone calls me Cher. Who are you?”

“The ugly monster from the magic garden.” I pulled a face at her and she giggled. “Robert.”

“I have to go now.” Little white legs flashed past as she ran away.

Without realising it, minutes had passed without that heavy feeling of sadness I now constantly lived with. Instead of the feeling of emptiness that perpetually reminded me that the best part of me was gone, I was held in a spell of enchantment. It was like a tiny magical fairy had been in my garden, all that was missing were the wings. Very dark rich brown hair, almost black, loosely hanging down her back. Huge dark eyes with a pert little nose (a few freckles), the loveliest smile I had seen in a long time, though I got the impression she does not smile a lot. It was not just her slender face, her firm long slim arms and legs, it was her personality, her vibrant joy of life that seemed to blaze out of her and warm my loneliness. I wondered who she is, why her family were in Greece and whether I would ever see her again.

The next day my doorbell rang. When I opened the door I saw a woman four to six years older than me with little Cherine at her side. Cherine was looking up at me with a sort of hesitant smile.

“Good afternoon, I’m sorry to bother you. I have brought Cher to apologise to you for trespassing in your garden yesterday. She did not know it was a private garden, she thought it was for everyone staying in the building - and your gate was open.” She turned to the little girl, “Say you are sorry and that you won’t bother the gentleman again.”

Before she could say anything I interrupted, “Please, no apology is needed. If she did not know then she did not do anything wrong, so, as I said, no apology is needed. Anyway, I have already told her she is welcome to come here to play whenever she wants.” I turned to Cherine. “You can even bring your friends to play if you want.” I turned to the mother again. “There are no beds of flowers to worry about, and it is safer for her than playing on the street. She won’t bother me, I never use it.”

“Are you sure. I don’t want her being a nuisance. She can be quite a handful at times, a real little imp. Growing up on her own, she is getting a little wild. What can I do, I have to work though.” She seemed to be examining me. “What you say is true. They don’t have many parks for children to play in over here,” as if in explanation she carried on, “where we come from, near London, every suburb has safe play areas for children, I was worried what she would do here.”

17

I felt obliged to ask them in. She told me about her husband who had been killed in an accident. About getting a job offer to work for a shipping company in Piraeus and her worry about little Cher. Having to travel to Piraeus made it a long day, but she did not want to stay there, not with a little child. She had employed a local elderly woman to look after her daughter, but Cherine was a ‘totally uncontrollable’ eight year old and she wore the old lady out. I said the right things and reiterated my offer to allow Cherine the use of the garden. I saw Cherine listening to us, but her eyes were examining the room, especially the photos and sketches I had made of my lost love. She turned and looked at me with a large-eyed earnest stare.

My mind however was more on the problem of what to do about the mother. I could feel she was inspecting me, sizing me up. I was worried she might be looking for something more than I was willing to give. I still strongly felt no woman can ever be trusted again and was not interested in a new relationship. I did not mind Cherine intruding on my space, but I did not want the mother around.

I think the mother finally realised my lack of interest, for she left very soon, to my great relief. I also gained the distinct impression she does not like me, thinks of me as a waste of time - thank goodness. As Cherine walked primly by her mother, she turned and flashed me a grin and wiggled her fingers at me from behind her back. She seems to have quite an impudent spirit that delights me.

Chapter Five

It was one of those times that come and go every so often, when my boss feels I should be at the office. As my work depends mostly on inspiration and creativity, he usually leaves me alone, knowing I often will be up all night working. He cannot, however, entirely shake off his upbringing which expects an employee to be at the office if he is to be paid.

I usually humour him, knowing it only lasts for a few days at a time and it usually forces me to re-focus on what needs to be done. The programming guys are always friendly towards me and enjoy gossiping about the work other companies are putting on the net, which gives me the chance to see for myself. We even had a conversation, once, which I found very interesting. All three of them admit they do not have much artistic talent, if any, yet they will often show me a new site and then explain what is wrong with it. I find myself amazed at how often they are right, so I suggested that having a mind which loves mathematics helps them see what is harmonious, well-balanced and so on. It made them feel good and I believe my position with them has been more firmly cemented. As with most people, they expect me to be an oddball because of my being an artist, so they do not resent my strange working conditions.

During the period before my going to the office, Cherine came to the garden often. If she was hoping I would be more sociable, at least she was patient in her ambitions, never pushy or doing things to draw me out. As far as I could see, she was a lonely little girl who sat and played by herself, living in a world of her own, as often happens with kids from one child families. I would sometimes see or hear the murmur of her talking, but there was never anyone with her. I did not feel I should intrude and I did not care to, so I left her alone. I think I was actually afraid of her becoming familiar and then interrupting me in my work. Since I am soft, too soft, I would not then be able to tell her to leave me alone. Keep it simple I thought, and left her to her own company. When we don’t want to examine our excuses, especially those we present to ourselves, it is amazing how easy it is to believe them.

Then my life turned upside down again. I kept my shutters closed. I slept days and tortured myself at night. I did not see any signs of Cherine for a few weeks, nor did I hear her. If I went out, there were no toys or papers left on the grass, so I did not know if she had been there or not. Not that I particularly cared or gave it a thought.

The reason for my misery? I had passed through Kolonaki Square one evening coming back from work and saw ‘her’ sitting at a table on the pavement, as beautiful as I remembered, leaning against her new love. I saw that her eyes, very serious and looking a bit sad, followed me as I walked past.

All those wounds I’d thought were healing, as if a spotlight had suddenly exposed them again, showed me they are still raw and bleeding. God, how I still love her, how I miss her! How angry it made me that I still do after her betrayal. She had known and liked me for years, from when she was still a little girl, had grown up to be a beautiful young woman and had found she loved me too. If she could betray me, I reasoned, what chance do I have of ever finding someone I can trust?

18

Her eyes haunted me for days. I know her so well. Those eyes spoke to me, giving my heart hope. I allowed myself to voice certain thoughts which I knew would end up hurting me, but I could not help myself. I’d say, she is not happy with him. She has realised her mistake. She is miserable. Oh what a world of meaning I built into that sad melancholy. I seemed to live in a limbo, living only for the moment my doorbell or telephone ring and hating myself for it, for wanting her back, for being willing to throw myself at her feet again when I knew that she did not love me.

With all that I was doing to myself there was no room in my life for a little girl, even if I saw her in the garden. Weeks went by. I opened the shutters again, trying to recover my routine, as Alki was becoming upset with the lack of work from me and the poor quality I did send. I did not want to leave Greece, so I knew I had to organise my life a little better. Cherine was still always alone, sometimes playing with a doll, but mostly not. Mostly not, seemed to define her in so many ways, but not because life made it so, more as if it was her who slipped through life like an eel, neither touching nor touched. Apart from my fanciful thoughts about her, which came to me without my being gifted with an understanding of their meaning, as if I were trying to write my bad poetry once again, I did once or twice, wonder offhandedly why she did not bring any friends, as I had told her she can.

Sometimes, when my shutters were closed, I’d stand by them for a few minutes, peeping between the slats, watching her and wondering at her spending so many hours alone. I hardly ever saw her face, as she’d sit with her back to the windows, but, when I did, it vaguely troubled me that she mostly looked melancholic. Sometimes I would depersonalise her, try to see her and my ugly little lawn as a painting, she placed there to symbolise the way life rejects life, but then I would alter my perspective and I would see a child, vibrant, representing life and I would wonder how there can be magic just outside my apartment, when there is nothing inside.

She never tried to intrude, but I noticed, when I left my shutters open, her surreptitiously glancing at me inside my flat now and then as I sat at my computer, her eyes wistful. Her obvious loneliness seemed to me just a reflection of my own feelings. I sometimes tried pouring out my mixed up emotions in badly written poetry, even including the image of Cherine as a symbol of my own alienation from the world. Perhaps this would have carried on forever if I had not become distracted one day by her fidgeting outside.

She glanced at my window but could not really see me in the shadow. She was obviously uncomfortable and when I saw her crossing her legs I realised what the problem was. Regretting my heartlessness, I opened the door and asked if she wants to use the bathroom. While she ran in, I stood on the lawn. Summer was coming and now I realised how hot it was outside. As she came out again I asked her, “Would you like a cold drink?”

“Yes please”

I got something from the fridge for both of us. As I handed her the bottle I saw her face was turning red and I knew her nose was going to peel. Her tiny tee-shirt was soaked. Her arms and legs were also turning pink.

“I think you have had enough sun for today. Come sit with me while you have your cold drink.”

She followed me in and sat very primly on the couch. I smiled ruefully at her obvious nervousness. It seemed so unlike the little I knew of her. I realised that by keeping my distance she did not know where she stood with me, so my heart went out to her. I do not believe an adult has the right to allow his problems to hurt a child in any way and I realised I had allowed myself to do exactly that. I tried a bit of reverse psychology, teasing her, hoping it would draw her out again. I no longer worried about her intruding in my life, she appears to be a very solitary person, just like me.

“I saw you have been very busy these days so I did not want to interrupt you. It seemed to me you were having very serious conversations with your doll. What is her name?”

“She doesn’t have a name, it’s just a doll!”

“Have you got other dolls?”

19

“Yes! Of course!” She sounded like she thought I was being silly.

“And you haven’t given names to any of them?”

“No silly, dolls don’t have names. Dolls break and die, so they don’t have names.” Where I’m concerned, children have the right to call me silly if I am being silly and teasing them. I love cheeky children, though not rude ones. It did seem strange for a little child to talk of her dolls dying.

From the nub of my own pain, I felt guilt well up within me. Of course, I had not thought! She must be hurting and missing her father. And now she has to spend her days without her mother in a new and strange country. I was shamed by my previous boorishness. I thought my misery had justified my ignoring her when she showed she wanted me to come out and talk to her by glancing at my window. Contritely I tried to find something to draw her out.

“Tell me Cherine, what do you do all day, when you are not here in the magic garden?”

“Oh things.” She rolled her eyes. “Maria cleans the house and then she sits at the tv and sleeps.” She giggled. “She snores.”

“Has she got hair on her chin?”

She laughed. “Yes, but she shaves them!”

“Lots of women shave.” I teased.

“My mummy shaves her legs and under her arms. But not her face!!”

We carried on for a while and I soon had her relaxed and teasing me back. For the first time for quite a while I was enjoying myself. In the hopes of extending her visit, I got some biscuits and as she popped one in her mouth she mumbled, “You are not like they said you are.”

“What do you mean? What am I supposed to be like?” I grinned at her.

“When we moved in, that man who gave us the keys said I must never come to your garden. He told mummy you had a tra... a something bad happened to you and you want to be alone.”

I felt the glow die in me. I tried to keep it from my face. Before I could say anything or lock myself within myself again though, she got up and went to a photo. “Did she also die? Was it an accident?”

I was still smarting at the thought that gossip has found its way to where I live. If the caretaker has told her mother, then everyone here knows. That explained the lack of prying and the looks they give me. Greeks love tragedy, I sometimes think it is the only thing they respect. That was why I did not answer her, but sat there lost within myself, within the echoes of my misery. Suddenly I felt her arms come around my neck. Sadly she whispered, “I also had a bad thing…my daddy died.”

I hugged her back and now, for once, the pain in my chest and the lump in my throat was not self-pity. The tears in my heart were for this little girl. “You still miss your daddy?”

“Yes. I don’t remember him so well anymore, I was very young when he died. But I miss him.” She squeezed me. I almost smiled, ‘very young’ indeed, her father had died the previous year. At her age I supposed, a year was a long time. I squeezed her back.

“Ow.”

“What’s wrong?”

“It hurts!” The sunburn was getting to her.

I got some yoghurt and gently rubbed it onto her face. Strangely, her trusting submission to my treatment as I went from face to arms and then legs stirred feelings in me. My hand softly caressed the yoghurt on her thighs.

20

She was sprawled on the couch and as I looked up to her face to see her reaction I saw her eyes were almost shut and she had a dreamy look that made my erection painfully full. The scene from my childhood came back to me, the other time I had held a child in my arms and made love to her. I remembered how beautiful it had been for both of us. Surely if it had been so lovely for little Dominique it would not be otherwise for this little girl. Was it such a terrible thing if I did not stop? As if in answer, she sighed and, wiggling her bottom, moved her legs further apart. Taking a chance, I continued softly rubbing her thigh, letting my finger ‘accidentally’ rub her swelling.

I pulled out my hand and began softly massaging yoghurt on to her other thigh, gradually reaching up to her shorts. I took my time, very slowly, until my fingers were under her shorts again. Finally my index finger and thumb were gliding over her thin cotton panty.

I could not tell whether the dampness I felt was my imagination, or whether it was from the heat and sweat, but my imagination almost drove me over the edge. As I felt anticipatory spasms I quickly got up and rushed off to the bathroom. As I closed the door I smelt my finger and thumb. I could smell a woman scent on them from the tiny girl I’d abandoned so suddenly. This drove me over the edge. I just seemed to come and come.

Soon as I had ended I returned to dear little Cherine, determined to cover my tracks, distract her so that she would not realise what had really happened. She still lay on the couch, her eyes opened only to slits, her liquid dark gaze on me. I sat on the floor by her and ran my fingertips over her face, her lips.

“You feeling better now?” Barely perceptibly she nodded. Her hand took hold of my fingers and returned them to above her lips. I realised she was inhaling, smelling them, and also that it was the hand I had just masturbated with, the fingers coated with my pre-cum and sperm when I had uncontrollably ejaculated. In my hurry I had just wiped them dry without washing.

“Do you know what I call it?”

“What?” I was not clear what she was talking about, my mind still on the fact that she had just inhaled my manhood scent.

“I call it the fire between the mountains.”

Her eyes, dark and sober gazed into mine. God, I had never felt so turned-on. It was like all my nerve-endings were on fire. Even my amazement that a little girl was making me feel like this could not detract from the eroticism and raw animal needs she had stirred deep within me. I felt like I was falling over the edge of a cliff, out of control.

I realised I had to end this before I did something I regretted, I did not want another little girl growing up and telling me she remembered me with shame. And I was older now, I had no excuse. In spite of myself, I found myself wondering how to get her shorts and panty off so as to see her wonderful swelling, at least once. Also, in the back of my mind, was the fear that she would tell her mother. I made some inane remark, then said I needed coffee, got up and made it, giving her time to break out of the lethargic daze she seemed to be in and myself the time to recover my self-control.

She spent the rest of the time sitting next to me and was soon giggling again so that when she left the room was cheerier than it had ever seemed before. It felt as if she had left part of her presence with me and I spent the rest of the day and evening in a frenzy that sent me another three times to the bathroom. My head was now full of pictures of Cherine, her little limbs, her soft warm skin. I also spent the whole time in dread of what would happen once Cherine has chatted with her mother.

How strange life is, that she should suddenly have become such a bright, vivacious image within my world, my efforts to hold her out overcome by such a banal reason; not because her personality had overcome my reluctance, but because she needed to use my bathroom. We can never know which innocuous act will alter the destiny we believed is ours.

21

The next morning she was down earlier than usual, welcomed by an open door and a smile, but nothing was said about the previous day. I had to ask her. “What did your mum say about your sunburn? Did you tell her I put some yoghurt on you?”

“No. She said I must not play outside today.”

“Are you still sore?”

“Yes. Are you going to put some more medicine for me?”

I found myself going out to the nearby kiosk and buying some lotion.

“Where are you sore?”

“Everywhere.”

‘Did she mean it?’ I asked myself, but quickly saw I was being stupid, she really is an innocent child and does not know what she could be implying. I treasure her innocent childishness and find I am very quickly, too quickly, getting extremely fond of her. Her outgoing nature, her naughty look when she is being impudent or cheeky are all endearing qualities. I also found her solitary nature, her quietness, intriguing. It did not feel as if she has intruded within my inner world, becoming a part of it. Instead, it vaguely feels as if a previously dark and unknown part of me has been lit by a glow within me, enabling me to see her, there where she belongs, in a part of me which will always belong to her if I allow it, if I don’t do something incredibly stupid. As friend, I hope, forever.

Sometimes even I find the way I think odd, but then I am glad my thinking does not always flow along the same worn out grooves everyone else feels safe in. Is it any wonder I have so few friends? Perhaps a child can accept how I am without feeling critical, be just like a friend who likes me.

That day and in those that followed, I truly did not know or understand what was happening. I just knew that if I missed seeing her for a day, that day would be dull and I’d feel let down. Yet, I still miss and love Dominique. She also is a constant ache in my heart, neither of the two diminishing the other.

From then onwards, the shutters to my apartment would be opened once I was dressed and somehow Cherine timed her arrivals to the garden in time to wave to me with a bright smile and I would open for her. I always made sure she got enough liquid in the heat and put sun protection cream on her, while she in return brought some of her joy for life back into my heart - yes, joy, even if she deeply troubled me, confusing me with all I was learning about myself through her. I got to know her and I loved her childish generosity and trust in me. She was not really a spoilt little girl. She has always lived in an environment where money has value and must be used wisely. If she was spoilt in any way, it was by me. She knew ‘her’ cupboard always had her favourite sweets and chocolates. I bought games for her to play with me. I chose those I thought can improve her mind while entertaining her. I made sure I cooked good nutritional food for lunch as she did not often go up to her flat during the day.

Her nanny came down a few times, but Cherine became quite obnoxious, telling her to leave, to go away. It was obvious Cherine would feel shamed by her bad manners, yet she refused to give in to her better nature, as if she had undertaken a plan which has to be carried out, whatever the cost - this has only become obvious to me through hindsight…the only kind of sight available even to the blind, though never to small-minded fools.

Finally, as I had dreaded, her mother came down to see me. I answered her questions and told her how Cherine passes her time while I work on my computer; I told her what I was feeding her (not a thing about the sweets though). I was surprised when her mother accepted what I told her without questions. We never saw her nanny at my door again and a few days later Cherine told me her mother had fired the old woman. The constant presence of Cherine each day, apart from the weekends, became a part of me and every plan I made for my immediate future; I was so used to having Cherine around I began to dread the end of summer when she would start going to school.

22

In a sense, she is not a very ‘cuddly’ little girl. She is warm natured, but too full of life to sit still for long. She is affectionate and always gives me a warm hug a few times each day, sometimes quite a sticky hug from the Greek sweets, chocolates and so on that I too liberally supply her with. It took me a few weeks to appreciate that she never does any of those little things people do that irritate each other. It did not make sense that any child could be so perfect, so I took the credit, telling myself that her sweetness has altered me, helped me grow into something closer to perfection than I had ever achieved before.

Usually, until I woke up at around ten in the morning and got dressed, she would spend some time in the sun or look through the magazines hanging from the kiosk and talk to the elderly woman who runs it. I made certain we bought all we could from the kiosk so that the woman would not stop Cherine from looking at the magazines, but I don’t think it was really necessary - it seems to me that anyone Cherine wants to be liked by, she is liked by.

Only once I was up and about would she come to the door and I would let her in for me to put the ‘medicine’ on.

“I like it when you rub me like this.”

“It’s called massage.”

At night, I would often spend hours sketching her face and body, the very act of sketching her so lovingly an occupation that troubled me, for my feelings were very unlike me and conflicted with how I think of myself. I was careful to burn the sketches every night before going to sleep, even though there was nothing indecent about them, for I thought of them as being labours of love and did not want to expose my feelings at this time.

“Would you like me to give you a real full massage madam? With nice massage oil, not medicine?” She nodded her assent. “You will then have to take off your top so that I can massage your back. This you are going to love.”

Being so young she had no reason to need modesty, it is usually just for the sake of emulating the grown-ups, I feel, that little girls wear tops at the beach. She lay on her back as I gently started to remove her top. She sat up for me to take it off then lay down again, staring at me with that intriguing little smile I could not explain, but that fascinated me.

“You’ll have to turn over, lie on your tummy so that I can massage your back.”

It was so different massaging such a tiny body. I was careful not to use too much pressure. Actually, it was sort of weird, for the first time ever I could feel what was giving her pleasure, what was not. I had read in articles about the Far East of this, but was amazed that I was so sensitive to her. This added to my own pleasure in massaging her.

Once I had done her back fully I returned to her shoulders, tenderly kneading them, the back of her neck and up into her scalp. I massaged, gently pulling strands of hair through my fingers. Throughout I was very careful not to omit the smallest spot. From being massaged myself, I know that if a spot is left untouched that area seem to cry out to be touched; it is distracting and can spoil the pleasure of being massaged. I was being overwhelmed by feelings of tenderness for her, yet I could not see that she had done anything to give birth to these feelings in me. I explained it away by telling myself it is natural that I feel this way for a child, since children have always been special to me.

I then went down to her pretty feet, massaged each toe and gradually worked my way up the back of her legs. As I reached the top of her thighs, alternating from one to the other, she raised her bottom and pulled her shorts off.

“I’ve got my bikini on.” she murmured. I ignore her obvious wishes and started from her face, massaged her ears and went down to her shoulders again, massaging and pulling at her arms, feeling where to massage her muscles, the tiny bones. I got to her wrists and then to each finger, massaging around each tiny nail. She really loved that. She loved her palms being massaged. Then from her shoulders I massaged her chest, even more softly than I had done her back, knowing it does not have the same cover of muscles to protect the flesh over her ribs.

23

I reached her waist and rubbed her tummy. I gave a raspberry kiss to her tummy and she giggled. She was now oily all over, so I covered my bed with a beach towel.

After laying her on the bed I went and got cold drink and some chocolates. We sat on the bed, her loosely wrapped in a towel, eating and drinking, chatting a bit. I managed to get her giggling. When she’d had enough chocolate she lay down next to me. We lay like that for some time with my hands gently massaging her back and hair. I thought she was dozing when I felt her hands start to massage me also.

I needed to stop and just feast my eyes on her beauty. I turned her, and leaning over examined her face in detail. I wanted this heavenly moment to last forever.

Because it had been so intense for me, I felt I needed for these hours to be kept private, so I casually asked her to keep this day and how we had spent our time as a special secret for only the two us to share and know about. She promised and though she was such a young child, something deep inside me made me feel I have seen the future woman in her and I believed her.

What I just said, does it sound crazy or fanciful of me? Although I did not fully understand what was happening at the time, I must write of it honestly, with enough detail that my weakness for Cherine can be understood. What happened with us, the tornado of feelings that were beginning to torture me, I do not believe I could have reacted so strongly if it had been any other little girl. I have read enough to recognise that I am stunted, immature in some ways, though a bit wiser in others, but what I had and will always have, the special feelings of devotion, of my idealising her, I can now see, is a weakness for Cherine herself, because of Cherine being Cherine. Part of my problem however, was that I was also puzzled at how quickly she enslaved me.

Chapter Six

Developing at least a slight friendship between Marian and myself was an effort, but it was worth it, for it meant I could invite them out now and then and have some extra time with Cherine. On this day, I had taken Cherine and her mother out, to visit the church at the top of Lykavittos, where they could see Athens below them and the Parthenon partly shrouded in the smog which is eating away the marble treasures of Ancient Greece.

We then sat in Kolonaki Square, having ice creams and watching the high society of Athens showing off their Guccis, fancy cars and so on. Cherine had been a very good girl, hardly ever interrupting as her mother and I chatted. I tried to keep the conversation away from personal matters, but I was not really concentrating on it; I was distracted because I had an ulterior motive for inviting them today and choosing the patisserie I did, at Kolonaki Square. I was hoping Dominique would appear so that she can see me with an attractive woman. Definitely not my type - but attractive and mature. Every time Dominique had seen me I had been alone and I hated the idea that she might be feeling sorry for me - okay, I’ll admit I also hoped she’d feel a little jealous and realise I am not as pathetic a man as I see myself.

Cherine was sitting facing me. She gave a sudden audible gasp and even beneath her suntan I could see her face pale. She made as if to say something to me, her eyes suddenly smouldering, then took a quick look at her mother and kept her mouth shut. Some instinct kept me from turning round. I found something to start talking about in what I could sense was an over animated manner when Dominique walked by, next to us, with Nicko. They stopped and Nicko came to me, with Dominique trailing behind him, looking nervous. It was obvious she was not nervous about seeing me, for she darted looks around her and I realised she was afraid her new love might see her with me. I almost wished he would, but I also felt sorry for her.

I introduced them to mother and daughter, with Cherine in particular as my ‘special friend’. Cherine refused to shake hands with either of them, which got her mother upset. I immediately put my arm around Cherine and held her tightly. I knew Dominique loves kids so I was surprised when she ignored her coldly. Hoping to cut short the moment of awkwardness, I asked Nicko in Greek to meet me for supper later as I have to take the two ladies home first. I must have hashed up the language a bit, for he grinned as he said okay.

24

Nicko shocked me that night by bringing up the subject of my ex relationship with his sister. “You know it was your fault that you lost Dominique?”

I felt my indignation swamp me. “My fault? What the hell are you talking about?!”

In a serious manner, he told me, “You were too soft with her. You let her twist you around her little finger.”

His air of sophisticated superiority angered me, “You don’t know what you’re talking about!”

He grinned. “You made the biggest mistake any man can make, with any woman, especially with a spoilt Greek girl.”

“And that is?” My tone was openly resentful, but he kept on grinning and ignored it.

“You showed that you loved her too much.” He paused, serious for a moment. “Why do you think my family did not object. We all saw it coming for a long time, I think before you even realised you loved her. We saw how much you loved her and how good you were for her.”

Sarcastically I threw at him, almost as an accusation, “I thought you wanted to marry her off to the son of some wealthy Greek family.”

“Ahh Robert,” he grinned, “you really do not understand us Greeks. Of course we wanted her to marry well. It would strengthen our family and her children would benefit. But we also want her to be happy. If she had loved you, we would have been happy to see you get married.”

“What do you mean if she had loved me? She did love me, not for long I know, but she did!” I was determined to cling to my belief and was angered by his observation.

“No my friend, she never loved you. You were just too dear a friend for her, she could not bear to lose you, that is why she tried to love you as a man. You should have played it cool, made her a bit jealous, maybe then she would have loved you.” He took a sip of his wine thoughtfully. “Didn’t you notice today how cold she was to that little girl? She was jealous of your friendship with her. But not, you noticed of her mother?” I sat silently thinking about it. He rested his hand on mine in easy friendship. “Robert, I wish she had loved you. You are a good man and you would have treated her well.” Again he give that special child-like grin of his. “And that way we would have kept it in the family!”

I grinned also as I recollected what he was referring to. At school, when we were both new and strangers to the culture we had been thrown into, we became friends. One day I took out my penknife, nicked myself and told him to do the same. We then swore we would always be blood brothers. Behind my grin and memories though, and my gratitude for his honesty, which I knew had been difficult for him, was a dark knot of pain which threatened to overwhelm me. I drank my glass to the bottom and re-filled it. Nicko laughed sympathetically and taking his hand off my arm, picked up his glass.

“That’s right. Let’s both get totally sozzled. Cheers.”

I don’t remember going home, Nicko must have seen to it. I woke up already sweating from the heat, my mouth tasting as if I had been using it to vacuum the carpet and my left cheek was very itchy. I realised I had gone to sleep on the floor. With a moan I remembered the previous day and night, my conversation with Nicko. Definitely not what I wanted to spend another day doing. I felt the pain and bitterness rising in me. It felt too strong for me to handle. I thought to myself, how do I stop this pain inside me. As if the thought came from someone else, I told myself, maybe if I hurt myself on the outside I will not feel the pain inside so much. It made sense.

I struggled to my feet and stood for a moment undecided. Should I go to the kitchen? No, I decided I’d go to the bathroom, a razor would be much sharper. I know I am a coward and I might not find the strength to cut myself with a knife. Then I thought, why not get in the bath. If I am lucky enough, I just might manage to cut myself deeply and bleed all my blood out and the pain will all go with it. An added benefit was, that way I would not make a mess of the flat for other people to have to clean up. Even at such a time I cringed at the thought of making others have to clean up my unpleasant messes for me.

25

As I turned towards the bathroom I saw and heard Cherine knock on the window-pane. She was standing almost up against the window, her arms hanging straight down, her face set, her eyes angry yet hurt, even afraid. For a moment I thought it was Dominique; the Dominique of long ago. That was exactly how she used to stand if she felt she had been wronged by Nicko. Since she could see me, without thinking I opened the door for her to come in. She just stood at the entrance.

“You lied to me!” Her voice was low and I could hear the hurt.

“Cherine, please, not now.”

Adamant she just repeated, “You lied to me. It’s not fair!”

I gave up. I guessed I would have to handle this first. Couldn’t very well do anything right now. I had an image of her coming into the bathroom and finding me in a pool of blood. I shook my head (and that hurt). “Cherine, I got very drunk last night and I feel awful. I’m sure I also stink. Please come in and take a seat while I have a quick shower. We can talk afterwards and you can tell me when I lied to you.” I grabbed some clothes from my bedroom and went for my shower.

When I came out she was still standing at the entrance. I tried a grin. “What, no cold drink? You must be really angry with me”

“You lied to me and it’s not fair. If I was big like my mummy you would not have lied to me”

Oh boy, was she ever wrong. It is children I cannot lie to. I put on a mock stern look and said, “Cherine, I never lie to my friends and I don’t always tell the truth to those who are not my friends. Now, if you are my friend you’ll come in and sit down, have a cold drink and we can talk like friends. Okay?”

As I’d expected, she looked confused for a moment as she tried to sort out what I’d said and then came in. After I had taken care of the amenities I turned to her. Her face and eyes were now more angry than hurt. The fear was gone. I only spared an instant for wondering why she had felt fear, I could not believe I had done anything to make her fear me.

In an adamant tone, she insisted, “You did lie to me! You told me she had died, just like my daddy!”

“Did I?” I asked gently. She nodded without taking her eyes off me. “Think Cherine. Use that pretty little head of yours. Did I actually tell you she died, or did you tell me?”

She looked down, serious and obviously trying to remember. It was weird, she did not move, she did not even swing her feet like she usually does. Oh god. How it reminded me of my little Dominique.

“But you did not say she had not died. That was a lie. My mummy told me that if I don’t tell the truth it can also be a lie.” I sighed and desperately wished I had made a cup of coffee.

“You know, you are right. But there were extenuating circumstances.”

She looked up. “Extenua…what is that?”

“It means I had a very good reason for not telling you.”

“Because I am not really your friend?”

“No. Because you are just about my very best friend. You want me to explain?” She nodded. The eyes were curious now, no longer quite so angry. “When you told me she had died you also said something else. You told me ‘like my daddy did’ and you put your arms around me. You remember?” She nodded silently.

“I was hurting, but I forgot about my pain. Why? Because you are such a special friend. I realised that you were also hurting and missing your daddy. All I could think of doing was helping you with your pain - I do not want you to ever hurt like that. I held you and wished there was something I could do to take away your pain. The moment for talking about her had gone, only you mattered to me. Afterwards, I just forgot to correct you. Those are my extenuating circumstances.”

26

“I like them.” I could have sworn from the look she gave me she was being cheeky and knew it. I could not help myself, I burst out laughing. I put my arms out to her, “Come here you little she-devil and give me a hug.”

After my hug and a few wet kisses she sat next to me, up against my side. Guilelessly (or so, as an adult, I like to think) she began to question me. I soon realised that under her outrage, her belief I had lied and her questions now, she was jealous of Dominique. I could have laughed. I told her all about Dominique, and as I talked I saw the truth in what I was telling her.

“I first met Dominique when she was about your age, a little younger. She was the little sister of my best friend in school, Nicko that you met yesterday. Nicko, being a boy and older than her did not play with her. Her parents were always busy and she was a lonely little girl with only her own company or the servants. You know, like your ‘hairy chin’.

Being so young myself, I did not really play with her. I was just nice. I would talk now and then, or sit and listen to her. As we grew up we became closer. She became my friend, just like you are now.” I gave her a little squeeze and she snuggled happily, nodding to show she understood. I smiled at her, sadly, but not with the pain I’d felt earlier, well, it was there, but not so bad anymore. Where did she find this gift of healing me with just her presence?

“Cherine baby, I then messed up badly. I made the mistake of falling in love with her, thinking that she also loved me in the same way. But she did not. She just wanted a friend, but now I wanted more, I wanted to marry her.”

“Will you want to marry me when I grow up?”

“Who knows. Maybe.” I teased.

She looked back seriously, also looking determined as she forcefully told me, “I would marry you. You are the best friend I ever had.” I thought that deserved a few more hugs and kisses, while my heart wept somewhere deeply within me, for I know how growing up will change her.

She suddenly sat up. “But if I am such a special friend, why do you always call me Cherine? I told you everyone calls me Cher.”

“That is because you are a very special friend. I don’t want to call you what all your normal friends call you. I sort of have an image of your name as being a bit exotic, maybe French. Don’t you like being called Cherine?”

“Oh it’s okay when you do.”

Casually, as if it was accidental, but somehow I could sense it was deliberate, her hand rested on my lap. I kissed her nose and she moved her face, bringing her lips onto mine. Gently I kissed her lips and asked, not entirely certain what I was asking, “Are you sure baby?”

She sat back and looked at me with flashing eyes. “I am

not

your baby.”

“I sure wish you were. I’d love to be your daddy.”

She shut her eyes, then she crumpled forward, hugging my leg. “Can I call you daddy?”

Tears in my eyes I answered yes. Face still hidden from me she asked, “Would my real daddy be cross if I called you daddy now?”

“I think he would be happy to know you have someone to love you. But I will only be your pretend daddy when we are in here alone. You agree?”

“Yes.” She kissed my leg. “You’ve got hairy legs!”

27

I picked her up, seating her on my lap, crosswise. I was feeling blessed and my heart was so swollen with love for her I felt like crying. As she lay against my chest I sensed she was dozing off. Gently I carried her to my bed, and on my elbows I lay next to her, looking at her sleeping. She had never been so beautiful in my eyes. Hell, even her missing teeth made her more beautiful to me. It was perhaps the most magical forty minutes of innocent beauty in my life.

I was to learn later, from the mother of Cherine, that she sometimes, after talking of her father or if she gets very upset, she’ll curl up and sleep for about half an hour. I was reassured she has not done this for a while though.

Cherine knew that I worked late at night and if not going to work, slept late, so she usually did not come to me until ten in the morning or later. I worried about what she did when I had to every now and then go to the office. I found out she would go out on the street, sometimes chat to the lady who sat at the kiosk, other times just wander the streets on her own. I felt it was not right, Athens may be one of the safest cities I know for a child, but things can happen. With so many Albanian and Rumanian refugees crossing the border, Athens is not quite as safe as it used to be. I made her promise, while I was being ‘daddy’ that if I am not there, at the most she can go chat at the kiosk, otherwise she must stay in her flat, or play in the garden, or come into my home and play or watch tv. I gave her a little gift wrapped box.

“This is a very special gift. It shows I trust you as I have never ever trusted anybody else before. It is up to you to prove to me that you deserve my trust.” Mystified she opened the packet. Inside was a key to my front door. “Baby, my home is a very special place to me. All the things I have and love are in here. That computer, those discs, they are how I make my money to live. So you must never ever let anyone else get that key. Be careful you don’t lose it. What you do when you are in here is up to you. Everything I have is yours, so don’t worry about having to ask me first. I also want you to learn more about how to use a computer. All that okay with you?”

She began to cry. She had never cried before that I had seen. Her little hand tightly clasping the key she fell against my shoulder and sobbed her heart out. I have never had such fatherly emotions, had not ever realised I could love having a child so much. Fate had rewarded me for some reason with a gift I truly did not feel I deserved. I resolved to make certain decisions and change my life so that Cherine is always my main concern. Cherine, my beautiful little ‘daughter’.

Chapter Seven

That afternoon I called Dominique. I could not quite work out whether she was happy to hear from me, she was so reserved that it was obvious she was afraid I was going to try to win her back, but she was not icy cold, just polite. I asked her to meet me in the park behind the church in Kefalari the next day. She wanted to know why. All I could answer was we both need to hear what I have to say. I also promised that after this she will only see me if she ever wants to. This made her even more cautious, more reserved, she was now convinced I wanted to plead for another chance for her love. Underneath it all though, she has a kind heart and could not find it in herself to refuse me. I ended by enigmatically telling her not to worry, I will have a chaperone with to protect me, and I closed the phone.

That evening I called at Cherines’ flat. “Good evening Marian. I need to ask you a little favour.”

“Shoot.”

“I am going up to Kefalari tomorrow to meet someone…a childhood friend. I would like to take Cherine with me. There is a lovely park there where she can play and I promise I won’t let her out of my sight.”

“I don’t think it is such a good idea.” Her chin sort of stuck out at me.

I laughed. “Oh it is. I need her as my chaperone. To stop me from making a fool of myself - or to help me make a fool of myself, I’m not quite sure yet.”

Puzzled she looked at me. “And I suppose you’re not going to tell me what this is about?”

28

“Nope.” I grinned back. She seemed to soften, as if she almost liked me, or else the humour of it got to her.

“There is obviously something going on. Oh well, she seems to spend hours with you anyway, all she can talk about is you. Are you sure you are not planning to elope with her?” she teased me back.

“Maybe later, when I’ve grown up; we’ll have to see.” As I’d hoped, she found me funny - though I suspect she thought I was right about the growing up bit. Cherine was too tense to respond with humour and just stared at her mother.

“Alright. On one condition. No, two. First, you have her back here before I return from work.”

“And the second?”

“You promise to come for supper. I’ve got to have my chance to try and weasel out of you what nefarious scheme you needed my daughter for.”

“Okay, it’s a date. Not that you will succeed - but it’s worth taking the risk as Cherine tells me you are a marvellous cook.”

“Only if you like roast beef and Yorkshire pudd.”

“Mmm. My mouth is watering already, not exactly what I can find here in Greece and it is one of the few things I miss about home.”

And so it was that I was about to close the circle of that part of my story, that chapter of my life. I was still not clear as to how it would affect the rest of my life, heck, I was not even certain as to how I hoped it would.

The next morning Cherine was down bright and early, excited. She was all dressed up and raring to go. She wanted to know where we are going and what are we going to do. I asked her to sit down while I make a coffee and explain to her. She was instantly sombre, sitting wide-eyed, sensing something important is about to happen.

“Remember what I told you about Dominique? Yes, well, I need your help to fix a big mistake I made.” I took my coffee and sat next to her. Females get so easily jealous, at whatever age they are, I knew I had to explain carefully.

“Cherine, I lost a very precious friend. I was very lucky though, I made another special friend and even found myself the most wonderful daughter in the whole wide world - you. You know, when you lose someone, even if you find someone new, you still miss the one you lost. Just like I know you will always miss your daddy, even if you have me now.” I thought I was doing a good job of explaining myself to her, but she did not even nod in response, she just stared at me out of those big dark eyes of hers. I started to get a sinking feeling that I was not getting through to her.

“Cherine, you are my best friend, I love you the mostest. But I did hurt Dominique and I want to make things right again. You know, it is only because of you that I learnt that it was not just her who hurt me, that I also, in a sense let her down, hurt her. I want to say sorry and make things right with her. If I don’t, I will not feel good about myself and it would also show that I am not a very good friend to have, wouldn’t it? Friends should be able to say ‘sorry’ shouldn’t they?” I did not explain about setting ghosts to rest, nor that I had cribbed the line from a movie.

“How do you want me to help?”

“Oh my precious, I wish I knew. Just having you with me will help a lot.”

“So, you finished with that coffee yet? Are we going now?”

Next Post 003

I hope you enjoy reading this story of fantasy, adventure and love.

Αλέξανδρος Ζήνον Ευσταθίου

(Alexander Zenon Eustace)
^{15th February, 2019}

* posted on Steemit: 19th February, 2019



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