His hand was trembling like fire meeting the wind, and he felt he had to make an effort to keep it somewhat steady and not drop the phone, smashing it into a thousand pieces along with his equally trembling heart. But he was alone, utterly alone, just him and his pounding heartbeats. With an excuse, he had sent his wife to his aunt’s house, supposedly to bring him that chamomile that soothes the stomach and to keep the old woman company, who had been left all alone at the edge of the village. He wanted not even a shadow beside him during this phone call he was about to make, but the turmoil inside him took his breath away, sweat running down his spine and everything churning within him. He had made thousands of phone calls in his life, but this time he felt unable to press even a single button. How would he reach ten?
The rebellious wind was whistling outside in Aidonochori, the old Ostanitsa, as if cursing every window left open, insulted by its power and its passage. He got up from the couch and went to the window with a strange feeling, as if someone might be watching him. Not even that unruly cat wandering around the house would bother, even if it saw a plate full of fish bones. It preferred to hide rather than be battered by the wind and the heavy rain that had started, and so it had found shelter under the side shed next to the owner’s stacked old weapons. The man opened the curtain to take a look outside. Not that he would see anything. He did it to calm his nerves a bit, to loosen or at least relax that tight knot in his stomach.