PROSE English Language
Hearth
Loula S. Rodopoulos Melbourne, Australia
‘Did you remember the garlic?’ ‘Forget the garlic Leo’, shrugs Chris, as he mixes lemon and oil on a saucer. ‘Try this year’s wine.’ Chris puts the saucer on the mantelpiece above the hearth and pours wine into two glasses. He adjusts his trousers as he manoeuvres his plump body onto a low wooden stool. He leans over the hearth and drags the two olive tree stumps closer over the flaming vine twigs. As the fire flares he rubs his hands together over the flames. Standing back from the hearth he leans across the table and opens a parcel of meat, a gift from Leo, containing a long string of sausages, spare ribs and pork chops rimmed in a thick layer of fat. Chris cuts the spare ribs into smaller portions and puts them aside. He flattens the pork chops leaving the fat. He scrapes the grill with a crumpled newspaper. Dipping a lemon half into olive oil he wipes it over the grill, shapes the string of sausages into a circle and places it on the grill. He perches the grill on the broken and blackened sandstone hearth ledge. ‘Here’s some garlic!’ White haired and gaunt, Leo grins as he pulls out two yellow knobs from his pocket, ‘Keeps the evil eye away!’ He sits on a rickety upright wooden chair at the dining table. His speech is excited, his cheeks flushed. Bachelors, Chris and Leo have been friends since their school days. When Leo arrived in the village square early in the morning he’d shouted up to Chris’s house, ‘I need a quiet day after last night’s bingeing.’ Chris, roused from his sleep, welcomed Leo with a yawn, ‘I played cards until four! I need more sleep! Come in, come in.’ As the coals settle Leo rolls a cigarette and lights it for Chris. Chris draws on it as he slides the balcony window open to a crisp morning. The view from the balcony stretches across valleys and mountains to the distant blue of the Corinthian Gulf. ‘Dennis won’t be back for awhile.’ ‘Your brother is back again! He visits every year now doesn’t he?’ ‘Yes I wish he’d return permanently. He’s good company even though he’s a pain sometimes.’ Chris moves back to the hearth where he crushes the garlic into a saucer with a knife and mixes it with lemon and oil. He spreads the coals flat with an iron poker and dips a long sprig of thyme into the dressing. He bastes the sausages before placing the grill on top of the coals. As the sizzling fat drips the fire flares. ‘Hey the sausages are burning! Why is Dennis a pain?’ Leo teases. ‘Leave it to me. I’m a master at this.’ Chris moves the grill aside and spreads out the coals again. ‘He’ll not be happy when he sees all this meat. Eat salads and fish he’ll say – and take long walks! You’ll see.’ Dennis pushes the front door open and enters the room. ‘Hi Leo you’re early. Look who else is here!’ Another man steps into the room behind Dennis. Chris and Leo greet the man warmly but look at him intently. ‘You don’t recognize me do you?’ The balding man is dressed in a dark suit with
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Diasporic Literature/Διασπορική Λογοτεχνία/Literatura de Diasporic - http://diasporic.org
Issue 3 Vol. 1, February 2012