Σύρος, προς Πισκοπειό
Εμμανουὴλ Ροΐδης : "Το ξεστούπωμα"
Τὸ νὰ νυστάζῃ τις χωρὶς νὰ ἠμπορῇ νὰ κοιμηθῇ εἶναι βάσανος, τὴν ὁποίαν καλῶς γνωρίζουν κατὰ τὰ θερινὰ καύματα οἱ Ἀθηναῖοι.
Ἂν δοκιμάσῃ ν᾿ ἀναγνώσῃ, στερεῖται μετ᾿ ὀλίγον τῆς ἱκανότητος νὰ κρατῇ τοὺς ὀφθαλμοὺς ἀνοικτούς, ἀλλ᾿ εὐθὺς ἅμα σβύση τὸ κηρίον, τὸν ἀναγκάζει νὰ τοὺς ἀνοίξῃ καὶ πάλιν ἡ ἀνικανότης νὰ κοιμηθῇ.
Ἡ τοιαύτη μεταξὺ νυσταγμοῦ καὶ ἀϋπνίας πάλη καὶ τὰ ἀλλεπάλληλα ἀψίματα καὶ σβυσίματα τοῦ κηρίου παρατείνονται πολλάκις μέχρι τῆς πρωίας, ἢ τῆς ἐξαντλήσεως τῆς θήκης τῶν πυρείων.
Οὐδεμίαν γνωρίζω κατάστασιν ὀδυνηροτέραν τῆς νυσταλέας ταύτης ἀγρυπνίας, ἂν τύχῃ μάλιστα νὰ ἐπιδεινώσωσι ταύτην δαγκάματα σκνιπῶν καὶ κωνώπων.
Εἰς ταῦτα προστίθενται πολλάκις καὶ τὰ κέντρα τῆς συνειδήσεως, κατὰ τὰς τοιαύτας πρὸ πάντων ὥρας ἐλεγχούσης ἡμᾶς, δι᾿ ὅσα ἔτυχε νὰ πράξωμεν κατὰ τὸ διάστημα τοῦ βίου μας ἀνόητα ἢ κακὰ ἔργα.
Τὸ τελευταῖον τοῦτο ἔκλινα νὰ ὑποθέσω ἰδιαιτέραν μου ψυχοπάθειαν, μέχρις οὗ ἔτυχε ν᾿ ἀνεύρω εἰς τὴν «Φιλοσοφίαν τοῦ Ἀσυνειδήτου» τοῦ Ἐδ. Χάρτμαν ἀκριβὴ τοῦ ἱκανῶς, ὡς φαίνεται, συνήθους τούτου φαινομένου περιγραφήν. Τὸ κυρίως χαρακτηρίζον τὴν ψυχικὴν ταύτην διάθεσιν εἶναι ὅτι βλέπομεν τὰ πράγματα ὡς διὰ μεγεθυντικοῦ φακοῦ, θεωροῦντες ἄξια νὰ ζυγισθῶσιν εἰς τὴν πλάστιγγα τῆς τελευταίας κρίσεως παραπτώματα, εἰς τὰ ὁποῖα θὰ ἠρκεῖτο ὁ παπᾶς νὰ ἐπιβάλῃ ὡς ἐπιτίμιον εἴκοσι μετάνοιες καὶ τριήμερον ἀποχὴν ἀπὸ οἴνου καὶ ἐλαίου, ὡς ἐκανόνισε τὴν ἑξῆς ἰδικήν μου ἁμαρτίαν.
Ὁ ἥλιος ἐμεσουράνει κάθετος ἐπὶ τῆς κεφαλῆς, ἐνῶ ἀνηρχόμην μετὰ ὀμηλίκου δωδεκαετοῦς συμμαθητοῦ μου τὸν ἀνήφορον, τὸν ἄγοντα εἰς γείτονα τῆς Ἑρμουπόλεως ἐξοχὴν καλουμένην Πισκοπειό, ἢ σχολαστικῶς Ἐπισκοπεῖον.
Ὡς πάντες γνωρίζουσι, τὰ βουνὰ τῆς Σύρου εἶναι γυμνότερα τοῦ Ἀδάμ, τὸ χόρτον εἶναι τελείως ἄγνωστον καὶ ἡ βλάστησις περιορίζεται εἰς ψωριώσας τινὰς τὸ φθινόπωρον φασκομηλέας καὶ ἡλιοκαεῖς κατὰ τὸ θέρος ἀκάνθας.
Εἰς ἀπόστασιν ὀλίγων βημάτων προηγεῖτο ἡμῶν κατάξηρος κ᾿ ἐκεῖνος ψωραλέος ὄνος, σύρων ἐπιπόνως βαρέλαν ὕδατος, τοποθετημένην ἐπὶ εἴδους διτρόχου χειραμάξης ὑπὸ τὴν ὁδηγίαν γραίας χωρικῆς. Τὸ πρόσωπον αὐτῆς δὲν ἐβλέπαμεν, ἀλλὰ μόνην τὴν ῥάχιν, ἥτις τοσοῦτον εἶχε κυρτωθεῖ ὑπὸ τὸ βάρος τῶν ἐτῶν καὶ τῶν μόχθων, ὥστε ἐσχημάτιζεν ὀρθὴν σχεδὸν μὲ τὰ σκέλη τῆς γωνίαν.
Τὸν ὄνον, τὴν βαρέλαν καὶ τὴν γραῖαν εἴχαμεν ἀκολουθήσει μηχανικῶς, ἀπὸ τὴν παρὰ τοὺς πρόποδας τοῦ λόφου βρύσιν μέχρι τῆς ἐγγιζούσης κορυφῆς αὐτοῦ, ἀσθμαίνοντες καὶ ἄφωνοι ἐκ τῆς ζέστης καὶ τοῦ καμάτου. Ὁ πυρακτωμένος κονιορτὸς ἔκαιεν ὡς θερμὴ στάχτη τὰς πτέρνας τῶν ποδῶν μας, ἐνῶ ἐτύφλωνε τοὺς ὀφθαλμούς μας τῶν λευκῶν βράχων ἡ ἀκτινοβολία. Παντὸς εἴδους μύγαι ἐβόμβουν περὶ τὴν κεφαλήν μας καὶ αἱ ἀκρίδες ἐπερίμεναν σχεδὸν νὰ τὰς πατήσωμεν, διὰ νὰ τιναχθῶσι δι᾿ ἑνὸς πηδήματος εἰς μακρὰν ἀπόστασιν, ἀνοίγουσαι ὡς ῥιπίδιον τὰ κόκκινα ἢ γαλανά των πτερά.
Ἡ γραῖα ἔσυρε πάντοτε τὸ καπίστρι, ὡς νὰ ἤθελε νὰ βοηθήσῃ τὴν ἐπίπονον πρόβασιν τοῦ ἀσθμαίνοντος ὑποζυγίου της· οἱ κακῶς προσηρμοσμένοι τροχοὶ ἔτριζαν πενθίμως καὶ τὸ ἐπ᾿ αὐτῶν βαρέλιον ἐξηκολούθει νὰ ταλαντεύεται πρὸς δεξιὰν καὶ ἀριστερὰν ὡς μεθυσμένος βρακᾶς.
Κατ᾿ ἐκείνην τὴν στιγμὴν ὁ μεσημβρινὸς δαίμων μου ἐνεφύσησεν ἰδέαν, ἥτις μ᾿ ἔκαμε νὰ γελάσω.
- Γιαννακό, ἐψιθύρισα εἰς τὸ ὠτίον τοῦ συντρόφου μου, δεικνύων διὰ τοῦ δακτύλου τὸ ἐκ στουπίου πῶμα τῆς βαρέλας, δὲν θὰ ἦτο νόστιμον ν᾿ ἀνοίξωμεν τὴν βρύσιν;
Ἡ ἰδέα μου τόσον τοῦ ἤρεσεν, ὥστε τὸν ἔκαμεν ἀμέσως νὰ λησμονήσῃ τὴν κούρασίν του· ἐπλησίασεν ἐπὶ τῆς ἄκρας τῶν ποδῶν εἰς τὸ βαρέλι, ἔθεσε τὴν χεῖρα ἐπὶ τοῦ ὑγροῦ σώματος, ἐστράφη τότε νὰ μὲ κοιτάξῃ, ἐξέφραξε μετὰ ἐνθαῤῥυντικὸν νεῦμά μου τὴν ὀπὴν καὶ τὸ νερὸν ἐξεχύθη ὡς κρυστάλλινος κρουνὸς ἐπὶ τῆς κονιορτώδους ἀτραποῦ.
Περιττὸν νὰ εἴπω ὅτι εὐθὺς μετὰ τὸ πραξικόπημα εὑρέθη καὶ πάλιν πλησίον μου ὁ Γιαννακός, ἢ ὅτι οἱ τέσσαρες πόδες μας ἦσαν ἕτοιμοι εἰς φυγήν. Κατεσκοπεύαμεν τὴν γραῖαν, ἥτις ὅμως δὲν ἐστράφη, διὰ τὸν λόγον ὅτι ἦτο βαρύκοος ἡ δυστυχής.
Ἐφ᾿ ὅσον ἐξηκολούθει ἡ χύσις, τὸ βῆμα τοῦ ὄνου ἀπέβαινε ταχύτερον· τὸ κενωθὲν βαρέλι ἀντὶ νὰ βαρυταλαντεύεται ὡς μεθυσμένος, ἐχόρευεν εὐθύμως κατὰ τὰς ἀνωμαλίας τῆς ὁδοῦ μεταξὺ τῶν δύο τροχῶν οἵτινες ἀνακουφισθέντες κ᾿ ἐκεῖνοι ἀπὸ τὸ ὑπερβολικὸν βάρος ἔπαυσαν νὰ τρίζωσιν ἀπαισίως. Μετ᾿ ὀλίγον ἀντὶ νὰ σύρεται ὁ ὄνος ὑπὸ τῆς γραίας, ἤρχισε νὰ σύρῃ ἐκεῖνος τὴν γραῖαν. Τοῦτο ἦτο τόσον ἀσύνηθες, ὥστε τὴν ἔκαμε νὰ ὑποπτεύσῃ ὅτι κάτι ἔκτακτον εἶχε συμβῇ. Ἐσταμάτησεν, ἀφῆκε τὸ κάρον νὰ προχωρήσῃ ἓν ἢ δύο βήματα καὶ εἶδε τὴν ἄφρακτον τρῦπαν, ἐκ τῆς ὁποίας ἀπέσταζαν αἱ τελευταῖαι ῥανίδες τοῦ τόσον ἐπιπόνως μετακομισθέντος ὑγροῦ.
Τότε μόνον ἔστρεψε τὴν κεφαλὴν καὶ μας εἶδε καὶ εἴδομεν καὶ ἡμεῖς τὸ πρόσωπον της. Ὠμοίαζεν ἑκατοντούτις, κάτισχνος, ξηρὰ καὶ μαύρη ὡς μούμια ἐξ Αἰγύπτου. Ἐπεριμέναμεν φωνάς, ὕβρεις, κατάρας ἢ καὶ πετροβόλημα. Οὐδὲ λέξιν ὅμως μᾶς εἶπεν, ἀλλ᾿ ἠρκέσθη νὰ στενάξῃ· ἀδύνατον ὅμως εἶναι νὰ λησμονήσω τὸ ἄφωνον παράπονον τοῦ βλέμματος αὐτῆς, ὅταν ἐπέρασεν ἔμπροσθέν μας ἐπιστρέφουσα νὰ μεταγεμίσῃ τὸ βαρέλι της εἰς τὴν μακρὰν ἀπέχουσαν βρύσιν. Τὸν Γιαννακὸν ἔτυχε να ἐπανίδω εἰς τὴν Αἴγυπτον μετὰ εἴκοσιν ὅλα ἔτη καὶ οὐδ᾿ ἐκεῖνος τὸ εἶχεν λησμονήσει.
Εμμανουήλ Ροΐδης (1836-1904) - Βικιπαίδεια
Emmanuel Roidis – The Mischief (Unplugging the Cask)
Rendered by Vassilis C. Militsis
Being sleepy without being able to sleep is a torture which the Athenians full well know during the summer scorchers. If you try reading, you won’t be able to keep your eyes open, but as soon as you put out the candle, you are forced to open them again because of lack of sleep. This tug-of-war between drowsiness and sleeplessness as well as the consecutive lighting up and putting out of the candle often drags on till morning or till the matchbox is all spent.
I know of no other more painful state of such drowsy wakefulness, which is especially aggravated by the bites of gnats and mosquitoes. Added to this, above all during these hours, are also the ‘bites’ of conscience which is smiting us for our foolish or wicked deeds we have done in our lives.
Concerning the latter, I was prone to think that I suffered from some sort of insanity until I happened to find in Karl Robert Eduard von Hartmann’s book The Philosophy of the Unconscious an exact description of this ordinary phenomenon. The main feature of this disposition of the soul is that we see things as if through a magnifying glass and we deem them adequate to be weighed upon the crime scales on Judgment Day; whereas the priest confessor would be content to impose a penance of twenty genuflections and a three-day abstinence from the consumption of oil and wine. In this way I atoned for the following sin of mine.
The sun was at its zenith beating vertically on my head as I was climbing up with my coeval twelve-year old school friend the ascent leading to the countryside in the vicinity of Ermoupolis called Piscopio or, in a more cultural lingo, Episcopeion. As it is well known, the hills of Syros are more naked than Adam, green grass is utterly absent and the vegetation is limited to some scant autumn salvias and sunburnt summer brambles.
At a short distance in front of us there preceded a dehydrated and mangy donkey toiling uphill and hauling a kind of a two-wheel cart, on which there was a cask full of water. An old peasant woman was leading the beast by the bridle. We could not see her face, but only her back, which under the weight and toil of so many years had been curved in such a way that formed a perpendicular angle with her lower limbs.
We were following unconsciously the crone, the donkey and the cask from the spring at the hill foot intending to reach its crest, speechless and panting because of the heat and the fatigue. The hot dust scorched our heels like incandescent ashes, while our eyes were blinded by the solar radiation reflected against the white rocks. Various types of flies buzzed around our heads and the locusts almost expected to be trampled before they sprang up to a long distance fanning out their red of blue wings.
The gammer kept on pulling on the bridle as though she wished to help the toilsome trek of her panting beast. The maladjusted cartwheels creaked and ground lugubriously and the cask on the cart continued to heave from side to side like a drunken ‘knickerbockers’.
At that moment the noonday demon tempted me with an idea that filled me with mischievous hilarity.
“Yannako,” I whispered into my companion’s ear pointing with my finger at the makeshift of oakum stopper of the cask, “wouldn’t it be funny if we unplugged the tap of the cask?”
He liked my idea so much that he immediately forgot his weariness. He approached the cask on tiptoe, placed his hand upon its wet hulk, turned around to look at me and after an encouraging nod on my part he unstopped the hole causing the water to gush out like a crystalline spout on the dusty path.
Needless to say that immediately after the coup, Yannako was again next to me, our two pairs of legs being ready to bolt away. We spied the granny, who, however, did not turn, as she was almost deaf, the poor wretch!
The more the water poured out, the faster the donkey’s step grew. Now the empty cask, instead of swaying like a drunken man, it danced gaily on the uneven road between the two wheels, which relieved by the excessive burden ceased their excruciating creaking. In a short while, instead of the donkey being hauled by the granny, the beast itself began pulling the old woman. This thing was so uncommon that it induced her to suspect that something out of the ordinary was going on. She stopped, let the cart proceed a short distance by itself and then saw the unplugged tap, from which the last drops of the so strenuously pumped and so far carried liquid trickled out.
Only then did she turn her head and saw us. We in turn saw her face. She looked centenarian; she was scrawny, chaffy and black like an Egyptian mummy. We expected vituperations, abuses, curses or even rock pelting. However, not a word was uttered; she was only content to give vent to a sigh. However, I still cannot forget the muted grief on her thwarted regard as she passed by us returning to refill her cask from the distant spring.
After twenty years I happened to meet Yannako again in Egypt and realized that he had not forgotten the incident either.
Translator's Comment
Emmanuel Roidis was a significant Greek literary figure and an essay writer. He was born at Ermoupolis, Syros on June 28, 1836 and died in Athens on January 7, 1904. He became renowned for his masterpiece Pope Joan, which appears to have influenced the 1996 Donna W. Cross’ book with the same title.
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