"You are a mother... or a witch!" Zotos exclaimed. He hesitated halfway through his curse. His tongue was tied, as if numbed by the awe that divine and sacred things inspire, but in the end, he let his venom out. Heavy words, poison, a dry razor at the throat. To call your mother a "witch"! Not a leper, as educated people would explain the word. In those villages, "witch" meant filth, dirtied, dishonorable. It was just a few days after the great tragedy, and he was still surrounded by the shadows of all demons. Now, even his insult left him like a bare and exposed thing in the snow; exposed before what centuries of respect for ancestors demand. Even his grandfather, the stern one of the family, was displeased, though he did not support his daughter-in-law. "There is a judge in heaven for these things..." he only said, then added: "Look, where you're going, don't stain your own face. Whatever you do, you'll suffer, may your heart not be hurt." Kyko, the mother, with her baptismal name Angeliki, which no one remembered anymore, curled up on the bedding and cried silently. Even the crying of women in these parts was dictated by men; husband, father-in-law, brother, grandfather, father. She sank her head into the black apron, as if it would save her from the shadows of her life, and she looked like a charred piece of wood.
Zotos turned his gaze away. His burden was heavy, his curse haunted him, even though he did not consider asking for forgiveness. His stubbornness held him back, regarding his conclusions, since he blamed his mother for the recent events, thinking she was the spark of evil. He stood by the window and looked outside. He saw nothing. The darkness erased everything that light reveals in people's eyes. Only the north wind, strong and cold, testified that the wheel of life had not stopped turning. It bent the bare branches, whistled, as if angry at what hindered its passage, calmed down, took deep breaths, and again stormed through the ridges, the slopes, the huts, the stone houses, and the valleys.