My Mother's Sin
Το Αμάρτημα τησ μητρος μου
1883
This Translation
Aside from the obvious challenge of bringing an older register of Greek into modern English, this text at times employs a vocabulary that is foreign to those outside of Orthodox Christianity. In order to incorporate the religious elements without losing readability, at times I added a word to contextualize a term, as in my translation of “Ὡραίας Πύλης” as the “altar’s Royal Gates.”
With every flicker of a candle, the saint in the icon across from me seemed to come alive. Shaking, he tried to tear free from the wood and touch the earth, descending to the ground in front of him with wide red robes, enhaloed head and eyes that gazed out from a pale and dispassionate face. Each time the bitter winter hissed through tall windows and rattled their flimsy panes, I felt those buried around the church try to scale her walls and enter in. Trembling in fear, sometimes I saw a skeleton stretch out his fleshless hands and warm them over the brazier that burned in front of us.
Nonetheless, I dared not betray even the slightest unease. I loved my sister and thought it best to stand by her and my mother, even though my mother would have sent me home without a second thought if she suspected I was afraid. And so, for the following nights I bore those horrors with the stoic poise they demanded, performing my duties with all the spirit I could muster.
I lit my candle faithfully, and every weekday I carried up water and mopped the church. During the matins service on feasts and Sundays, I led my sister by the hand and stood her under the gospel that the priest read from the altar’s Royal Gates. In liturgy I spread low the woven rug where my sister would fall flat as the sacred vessels passed over her. At the dismissal prayer, I placed my sister’s little pillow to the left of the altar gate, so she could kneel as the priest removed his stole and set it over her head, crossing her with the lance and whispering “When you were crucified, o Christ, tyranny was lifted and the power of the enemy trampled down….”
….
In all of this my sister followed me about; her pale and melancholy face, her sluggish and unsure step drawing compassion from all the churchgoers and invoking prayers of healing—healing, unfortunately, which was slow to come. And yet those damp, cold, unusual and even ghoulish nights passed in the church did not themselves make the slightest delay in worsening my sister’s ailing condition, a condition which now inspired fears of death. My mother could feel an end drawing near, and even in church her behavior began to betray a bleak indifference towards anything other than her sick daughter. Her mouth opened only to Annio, and to the saints when she prayed.
I approached my mother one day, unobserved, as she cried on her knees before the icon of the Savior.
“Take whatever you want from me,” she implored, “just leave me the girl. I know what is bound to happen—you remembered my sin and decided to take the girl to punish me! I’m begging you, Lord!”
After a few moments of heavy silence, in which I could hear her tears dripping on the tiles, my mother exhaled from deep in her heart, wavered a bit, and added:
“I’ve laid two of my children at your feet… just leave me the girl!”
On those words, a chill ran through my body and my ears began to buzz. I couldn’t bear to hear more. Exactly then I saw my mother, worn ragged from anxious fears, fall limp on the marble. Instead of rushing to help her, I took my chance to escape from the church, running like a madman and shouting as if death incarnate was ready to seize me on the spot.
Ὁσάκις τό φλογίδιον μιᾶς κανδήλας ἔτρεμε, μοι ἐφαίνετο, πώς ὁ Ἅγιος ἐπί τῆς ἀπέναντι εἰκόνος ἤρχιζε νά ζωντανεύῃ, καί ἐσάλευε, προσπαθῶν ν’ ἀποσπασθῇ ἀπό τάς σανίδας, καί καταβῇ ἐπί τοῦ ἐδάφους, μέ τά φαρδυά καί κόκκινά του φορέματα, μέ τόν στέφανον περί τήν κεφαλήν, καί μέ τούς ἀτενεῖς ὀφθαλμούς ἐπί τοῦ ὠχροῦ καί ἀπαθοῦς προσώπου του. Ὁσάκις πάλιν ὁ ψυχρός ἄνεμος ἐσύριζε διά τῶν ὑψηλῶν παραθύρων, σείων θορυβωδῶς τάς μικράς αὐτῶν ὑέλους, ἐνόμιζον, ὅτι οἱ περί τήν ἐκκλησίαν νεκροί ἀνερριχῶντο τούς τοίχους καί προσεπάθουν νά εἰσδύσωσιν εἰς αὐτήν. Καί τρέμων ἐκ φρίκης, ἔβλεπον ἐνίοτε ἀντικρύ μου ἕνα σκελετόν, ὅστις ἥπλωνε νά θερμάνῃ τάς ἀσάρκους τοῦ χεῖρας ἐπί τοῦ μαγκαλίου, τό ὁποῖον ἔκαιε πρό ἡμῶν.
Καί ὅμως δέν ἐτόλμων νά δηλώσω οὐδέ τήν παραμικροτέραν ἀνησυχίαν. Διότι ἠγάπων τήν ἀδελφήν μου, καί ἐθεώρουν μεγάλην προτίμησιν νά εἶμαι διαρκῶς πλησίον της καί πλησίον τῆς μητρός μου, ἥτις χωρίς ἄλλο θά μέ ἀπέστελλεν εἰς τόν οἶκον, εὐθύς ὡς ἤθελεν ὑποπτευθῆ ὅτι φοβοῦμαι. Ὑπέφερον λοιπόν καί κατά τάς ἑπομένας νύκτας τάς φρικιάσεις ἐκείνας μετά ἀναγκαστικής στωικότητος καί ἐξετέλουν προθύμως τά καθήκοντά μου, προσπαθών νά καταστῶ ὅσον τό δυνατόν ἀρεστότερος.
Ἤναπτον πῦρ, ἔφερον νερόν καί ἐσκούπιζα τήν ἐκκλησίαν, ὅταν ἦτο καθημερινή. Τάς ἑορτάς καί Κυριακάς, κατά τόν ὄρθρον, ἐχειραγώγουν τήν ἀδελφήν μου, νά σταθῇ κάτω ἀπό τό ευαγγέλιον, τό ὁποῖον ἀνεγίνωσκεν ὁ λειτουργός ἀπό τῆς Ὡραίας Πύλης. Κατά τήν λειτουργίαν, ἥπλωνα χαμαί τό «χράμι», ἐπί τοῦ ὁποίου ἔπιπτεν ἡ ἀσθενής πρόμυτα, διά νά περάσουν τά Ἅγια ἀπό ἐπάνω της. Κατά δέ τήν ἀπόλυσιν, ἔφερον το προσκέφαλόν της ἐνώπιον τῆς ἀριστερᾶς τοῦ Ἱεροῦ θύρας, διά νά γονατίζῃ ἐπ’ αὐτοῦ, ὥς πού νά «ξεφορέσῃ ὁ παππᾶς ἐπάνω της» καί νά τῆς σταυρώσῃ τό πρόσωπον μέ τήν Λόγχην,ψιθυρίζων τό «Σταυρωθέντος σου Χριστέ, ἀνῃρέθη ἡ τυραννίς, ἐπατήθη ἡ δύναμις τοῦ Ἐχθροῦ, κτλ.».
…
Καί εἰς όλα ταῦτα μέ παρηκολούθει ἡ πτωχή μου ἀδελφή μέ τήν ὠχράν καί μελαγχολικήν της όψιν, μέ τό ἀργόν καί ἀβέβαιον βῆμά της, ἑλκύουσα τόν οἶκτον τῶν ἐκκλησιαζομένων καί προκαλοῦσα τάς εὐχάς αὐτῶν ὑπέρ ἀναρρώσεώς της· ἀναρρώσεως, ἥτις δυστυχῶς ἤργει νά ἐπέλθῃ. Ἀπ’ ἐναντίας, ἡ ὑγρασία, τό ψῦχος, τό ἀσύνηθες καί, μά τό ναί, φρικαλέον τῶν ἐν τῷ ναῷ διανυκτερεύσεων δέν ἤργησαν νά ἐπιδράσουν βλαβερῶς ἐπί τῆς ἀσθενοῦς, τῆς ὁποίας ἡ κατάστασις ἤρχισε νά ἐμπνέῃ τώρα τούς ἐσχάτους φόβους. Ἡ μήτηρ μου τό ἠννόησε, καί ἤρχισε, καί ἐν αὐτῇ τῇ εκκλησία, νά δεικνύῃ θλιβεράν ἀδιαφορίαν πρός πᾶν ὅ,τι δέν ἦτο αὐτή ἡ ἀσθενής. Δέν ἤνοιγε τά χείλη της πρός οὐδένα πλέον, εἰ μή πρός τήν Ἀννιώ καί πρός τούς ἁγίους, ὁσάκις ἐπροσηύχετο.
Μίαν ἡμέραν τήν ἐπλησίασα ἀπαρατήρητος, ἐνῷ ἔκλαιε γονυπετής πρό τῆς εἰκόνος τοῦ Σωτῆρος.
— Πάρε μου ὅποιο θέλεις, ἔλεγε, καί ἄφησέ μου τό κορίτσι. Τό βλέπω πώς εἶναι γιά νά γένῃ. Ἐνθυμήθηκες τήν ἁμαρτίαν μου καί ἐβάλθηκες νά μοῦ πάρῃς τό παιδί, γιά νά μέ τιμωρήσῃς. Εὐχαριστῶ σε, Κύριε!
Μετά τινας στιγμάς βαθείας σιγῆς, καθ’ ἥν τά δάκρυά της ἠκούοντο στάζοντα ἐπί τῶν πλακῶν ἀνεστέναξεν ἐκ βάθους καρδίας, ἐδίστασεν ὀλίγον, καί ἔπειτα ἐπρόσθεσεν·
— Σοῦ ἔφερα δύο παιδιά μου στά πόδια σου… χάρισέ μου τό κορίτσι!
Ὅταν ἤκουσα τάς λέξεις ταύτας, παγερά φρικίασις διέτρεξε τά νεῦρα μου καί ἤρχισαν τά αὐτία μου νά βοΐζουν. Δέν ἠδυνήθην ν’ ἀκούσω περιπλέον. Καθ’ ἥν δέ στιγμήν εἶδον, ὅτι ἡ μήτηρ μου, καταβληθεῖσα ὑπό φοβερᾶς ἀγωνίας, ἔπιπτεν ἀδρανής ἐπί τῶν μαρμάρων, ἐγώ ἀντί νά δράμω πρός βοήθειάν της, ἐπωφελήθην τήν εὐκαιρίαν νά φύγω ἐκ τῆς ἐκκλησίας, τρέχων ὡς ἔξαλλος καί ἐκβάλλων κραυγάς, ὡς ἐάν ἠπείλει νά μέ συλλάβῃ ὁρατός αὐτός ὁ Θάνατος.