She was a fiercely loyal person to her family and those around her who she thought deserved it. She was a fearsome businesswoman of great intelligence and pragmatism who always carried herself with an innate elegance and quiet but steely confidence.
She had to combine the roles of head of the Symitzis family businesses, head of the Order of Vlachernae and mother during the few free precious minutes left to her.
She succeeded beyond her wildest dreams and the low expectations of many of her conservative rival contemporaries who, initially, saw her as a nuisance, an upstart, just for being a woman, but who were soon relieved of any such delusions.
They started to have a growing respect, if not love or fondness for her, helped, no doubt, by the fact that they were fearful of her power. Even they were also soon to succumb to her power, be added to her list of, if not to the extreme of being hard-lined ardent fans, then at least admirers, and accept her as their leader.
However, even during all that upheaval and the constant challenges to her authority (always easily stamped out with common sense and a dose of necessary ruthlessness), she spent time with her sons who did not grow to resent her for her flying visits and often assumed indifference. They all adored her and respected her and looked up to her throughout their lives.
But Smyrna and her brother Antonios’ home was the safest place for them to call home, at least in their early years. Later they would not have a home at all. The places of their campaigns and travels would each be their temporary home.
Mrs Manto had as big a place in Nikitas’ heart as his biological mother, Zoe. He remembered her sitting him down on the floor or on her lap telling him stories of extraordinary adventures. Mrs Manto released Nikitas, stood back and took a long hard look at him, admiring the man he had become, her love for him animating her face and emanating a mother’s warmth.
‘My dear boy, I have pourekia for you in the kitchen, fresh out of the oven. Antonios is out in the garden tending to his precious roses. You can take him some pourekia and have a chat before Kostas arrives. His yacht has been spotted in the harbour.’
Nikitas lost no time and gave his feet wings on his way to the kitchen. The intoxicating smell of the freshly-baked pourekia was already pulling him by the nose. Mrs Manto followed and observed him hungrily gobble down a few pourekia, smiling to herself.
He then rushed for a glass of water before he put a few in a small plate and made his way back to the entrance hall, all the while his thoughts turning to the indomitable and irreplaceable Mrs Manto.
Mrs Manto was a treasure. She exuded such warmth, drama and excitement that you could not help but be swept away into that particular rollercoaster. How could anyone dare ignore her, and not succumb to her vocal, but, more often than not, silent demand for attention, a demand which was not the result of arrogance or vanity but of the best intention, as she always had the best interests of those she cared for at heart. She filled any room she entered with her presence, an effect born of the impression of a permanently animated appearance, of perpetual motion, even when she was standing still, her eyes contantly watchful, missing nothing.
She had strong opinions about everything and would immediately take charge. It was not an arrogant thing with her. She was decisive and never dithered. She would never shy away from responsibility and it was a result of her loyalty and willingness to resolve any issue troubling her family.
When she was present, others involuntarily deferred to her, a dominance born of her strong character as well as her actual physical presence. She was a generously-built woman with strong arms from all the manual work she had undertaken throughout her hard life. The air her bulk displaced choked the breath out of you. Funnily, it made you think that you had done something wrong. But she soon after filled your lungs to bursting with love and warmth.
She was big in stature and big at heart. Her heart was a big enough place not only for her family but the world at large.
Mrs Manto had a strong maternal instinct. She watched like a hawk over the people she loved, over her family. When necessary she would bare claws and teeth to protect them, like a tigress with her cubs. She had dedicated her life to looking after this family, spoiling her dear ones rotten.
There was proper tough love there though. They would fight a losing battle against her obstinacy and immovability. But her advice would always without fail be sound.
Yet her loved ones would not admit it to her face; how could they endanger her soul and massage her ego, how could they resist the temptation to make her perspire a little, just for the fun of it? But she would never be fooled. She always saw through these pitiable little schemes.
She was a master of dry wit. Complements would receive a smile and with a raised eyebrow would be instantly demolished by a self-deprecating comment. Any expectation of her being puffed up by sweet words would fall on deaf ears and soon deflate. She had seen too much in her life to be taken in by the magic of such words.
Nikitas walked across the entrance hall and out onto the patio, hungrily and contentedly munching on a delicious poureki. God, that woman was a miracle-worker. He wanted to plant a million kisses on those precious hands that had given them all so much over the years.
He stood on the steps leading down the patio to the garden and let himself drown in the riot of colours and smells besieging his senses. He was paralysed on the spot feasting on this vision of paradise on earth. He had no wish to let this dreamlike state go. He closed his eyes to prolong the good feeling.
The disc of the sun was high above in the clear blue sky, shining bright and hot, and drenching all below in a vibrant hew that brought to life even the dullest of flower and leaf, the humblest of petal and grass.
He saw Antonios engrossed in his roses. Nikitas broke his reverie and started to walk towards Antonios.
Suddenly, as if sensing something, Antonios got up and came face to face with a vision he had not seen for some time. He stood there for a moment in disbelief. “It must be a mirage, an illusion. I’ve been standing in the sun for far too long”, he thought out loud, but got no reply.
Nikitas waited. Antonios shifted focus, but the vision was still there. He wondered whether this was the first sign of the onset of senility or cataracts, the cursed or blessed gift of old age.
His face broke into a smile and he gathered Nikitas tightly into his arms and then released him.
‘Nikitas, how long have you been standing there? Have you been spying on me? Come and have a look. Tell me what you think. You know, I planted these after you last left and just look at them now. They’ve only just began blooming, as if to welcome you back home.’
‘You’ve always been a magician of nature. I don’t think they just did it by themselves.’
‘Lazy people find mystery and complexity where there is none. Now, tell me. How’s your mother and how is her Alexandrian journey going?’
‘She’s well. She’s pleased with progress. And Alexandria is one of her favourite cities. She’s thrilled to have been able to combine business with pleasure. She’ll be back next week. She sends her love. Antonios, why are you still wasting your time on those roses? You know as well as I do that soon this city and your beloved roses will turn to ashes. You should get out whilst there’s time. I wish I could say you should warn others, but I don’t think that’s feasible. They’ll think you are mad and try to lock you up.’
‘Don’t worry. Everything has been arranged. We will be out in time.’
Displaced for a second time, Antonios thought. Forever condemned to be nomads. And we are again at the same juncture. Another place. Another home. For how long, he wondered, this time.