And time was spent with dreams. When was it, 1910, that we had our youth, when did the Interwar period pass, when did the era of haze come, I didn’t even realize. The years flowed like water from a spring, and we remain increasingly aged, but with the same flame in our hearts. And we smile at the sun optimistically, drawing strength from our dreams and our patience, and so we lack almost nothing. Because we all lack something. Something small or something big. Anyway, something. I still reside in Glyfada, the remote seaside village south of Athens. Before the Occupation, it was a beautiful spa town, a carefree place that smelled of salt and pine needles. There was the "Miami" cinema in the small square, there were vacationers renting the stone houses along the coastline, there was the country center "Trouville" near Agios Konstantinos, which filled with happy families and lovers. Few buses reached here, but our settlement, for those who had discovered it, was an oasis of tranquility.
Then the Germans came, their bombs destroyed our chapel, the place was deserted, only the permanent residents remained. Many houses were requisitioned, fortunately not mine. Who raised in Berlin halls would want three humble rooms that are wet from the waves twelve months a year? My house looks like a giant worn pebble, standing isolated on the seashore. It is located right at the entrance of the settlement from the direction of Faliro, it is the first after the gray sign that says "Glyfada". However, it is hard to spot when coming by car. It is hidden by the seven huge pines that stand tightly embraced over my little garden and along the dirt road. There is no other tree within a radius of two hundred meters, only fields and deserted coasts, so some still describe it as "The house near the seven pines." Yes, I continue to live in this house. I have the seven pines, my zucchinis and tomatoes, the splash of the sea and the dreams that my loneliness nourishes. And so I lack almost nothing. Because I lack something.