The house on the cliff

“That they’re fighting for an idea, risking their lives for what they believe in, things like that. He said they were brave fighters, that they believed they were fighting for freedom, that whether we agreed with them or not, even if we thought their actions were wrong, we have to respect and honour them.” “Your father is a good man, and a wise one.” “Yes, but he didn’t say whether he agreed with them or not.” “He’s in the government, I don’t think he has a choice.” “He chose to join the government!” “It’s a caretaker government and his party is in the minority. In times like these, everybody has to make compromises.” “But who’s in the right? Which side?” “Neither side…or both. How would I know, my baby?” “If Daddy could choose, which side would he be on?” “Why don’t you ask him?” “Oh, come on, Loxándra, you know he doesn’t talk about things like that! It’s so annoying! He thinks I’m still a little kid. Anyway, it’s not like I ever see him. He hasn’t set foot here all summer.” “I think he’s coming for a few days at the end of the month. Your mother said so earlier.” “She didn’t say anything to me! Just complained about the bath and the hot water.” She had gotten up. I lingered at the table, hoping to continue the discussion, while she washed and dried the dishes and dealt with the day’s leftovers, either covering them and saving them in the hanging food safe, or putting them in a bag for Kyrá Ríni’s chickens. Normally she’d have given them to the dogs. I think she missed the dogs as much as I did. On a cool night like this, they’d be keeping us company in the kitchen, curled up on the tile floor, lifting their heads sharply at any change of rhythm or unusual noise. They were Aféntis and Alítis, Corfiot hunting dogs, my only siblings. I don’t know what had got into the gardener that summer, insisting on sending the dogs to the farm in Livádi. He had several excuses, as odd as all his utterances. I was surprised and hurt when my father not only agreed with no further ado, but cut me off abruptly when I tried to protest. The dogs had spent every summer of their lives at the Villa and never harmed Kyr’ Ángelos’ famous flowerbeds. I had my own theories about who was really to blame. I knew whose precious and fragile sleep was disturbed when they started barking in the night, but I hadn’t said anything. I didn’t go straight to my room after reading out the newspapers. I lingered in the kitchen, but Loxándra seemed distracted, lost in thought, not in the mood to talk. I tried to return to the discussion